Time Traveling Mouri
by tacotits
Summary: Many years after the Sengoku Jidai the Mouri clan has fallen to ruin, and the young genius Motonari is convinced that he only way to reinstate its power is to travel back to the time of warring daimyo and change the past. AUish, Chousokabe/Mouri
1. The First Try

_A/N: Written for a prompt on the kink meme asking for a time traveling Mouri and Tsuruhime._

**Time Traveling Mouri**

The first time ended with failure.

Tsuruhime had predicted as much when they were first working out the kinks for the project—if the sync did not complete, while you would end up in the right body, you would be left without any of the memories of your past self. And even if you shared the same soul, your body was from a different time, and without those memories-from the way the body used its lips to speak to how it felt to stand—you were left like a newborn, almost completely unable to function.

And as he fumbled, trying first to stand and then to speak, attendants rushed into the room, convinced that he was dreadfully ill, and later that he had been possessed by some vengeful spirit. He floundered in this new form for a few days, terrified at his lack of motor skills and how little he could understand. It was true that Japanese was being spoken all around him, but the sounds were so different and the dialect was so strange that he could only catch snippets here and there. When the time finally came for battle, yet more attendants strapped on his armor while he tried to hide his horror beneath a blank face. Without the memories of his past, he could not lead an army. He could not fight in a war. In the end, he died with an arrow pierced through his back, shot by one of his own soldiers.

Gasping for breath, and ears ringing, he woke in a plastic pod. He blinked away the blur to his vision and gripped his chest, waiting for the lingering pain to stop reminding him of the arrow that had been there only moments before. I see, he thought to himself through the pain. Should I die, I am simply sent back here. And with that, he punched the dates back into the pod controls, and closed his eyes once more.


	2. The Second Try

**Time Traveling Mouri**

The second time ended with failure.

This time his body synced perfectly; it was overwhelming to suddenly be burdened with so much knowledge. He opened his mouth to speak, and the words came out in the same dialect that had confused him so greatly before. The _tatami_ floors beneath his _tabi_ suddenly felt normal, and comforting, and as he looked around, he could name each and every object—the _kakejiku_ painted by a famous calligrapher for his father, his three separate rings that has been crafted on different occasions, the name of the painter who had carefully brushed the tiny lines that made up the scene on the _shouji _that divided the room. He retrieved a calligraphy set that felt familiar in his hands, and set about making _sumi_. With the brush gripped properly in his right hand, he carefully selected thirty-one syllables to form a _waka_—the strokes were as close to perfect as he had ever seen, and he imagery for the poem had come as naturally to him as his new accent. When looking closely at the words, he realized that many of the characters he had chosen had been abandoned in the Meiji Era. He smiled.

With this confirmed, he moved to the room where he knew his armor was located, and in a manner of a few short moments, he had changed from the silk layers of his _kimono_ to the tougher leathers of his armor. The simplest of his rings waited for him, and he went through a quick battle dance. Muscles that he wasn't aware of stretched, and the ring orbited his body, from fingertips to waist to the tips of his _tabi_, and he was overcome with a rush of joy and power. It was no wonder his past life had gotten so cocky—anyone who could fight like this must feel like a god.

Or a demon.

With his past life's knowledge and muscle memory also came his past life's plots and ambitions. The Battle of Sekigahara was none too far away, though not close enough that everyone had chosen their sides. His past life had weighed the sides and compared the possible outcomes, and decided that it would be wisest to side with Ishida, who defended the name of his past lord, but only if he could somehow convince the infamous Demon of the Western Seas to join their side as well. As interesting as this plot was, the current Motonari knew how history had been written, and the period following the Sengoku Era was definitely not named after the city where Tokugawa made his home because Ishida had won.

But the more he thought, the more his past life's plans seemed more and more reasonable. Motonari was proud, and had great faith in his own abilities, but as the first try had demonstrated, he would have to rely on the skills of this past life if he were to be successful. And with that in mind, he called for one of his advisors to confirm that Chousokabe Motochika was indeed far from his home port, adventuring among the waves. For if he should be far away, the time was perfect to launch a sneak attack on Shikoku, and leave behind death and the yellow hollyhock banner of the Tokugawa in his wake.

And when news of the carnage finally reached the ears of the one-eyed pirate, Motonari sent him a condolence letter written with his nicest brush strokes. He offered to put aside their rivalry for the time being so that they could focus their efforts to punish the one who had hurt Shikoku so, and though obviously suspicious of the leader of Aki's sudden kindness, Chousokabe agreed.

The plot advanced smoothly after that, only faltering when the young priestess of Shikoku showed up at his door step. Though she was a figure in his past life's memories, it had startled him to see her face in this time. The Tsuruhime he had known in his own time had been right in saying that souls tended to congregate together, and once they had met in a lifetime, it was likely that they would meet in the next.

This statement also held true for the great lord and pirate of Shikoku, who Motonari had only thought of as a chess piece to be moved. Ishida had called them both to battle, and Motonari, who knew what face to expect, and knew Chousokabe from his past life's memories, was startled upon seeing him for the first time. This Motochika was so vastly different from the one back home. His swagger and smile practically bled confidence, and his muscles rippled as he moved, wielding that ridiculous anchor with ease. From the eye patch to the salty stench of the sea that Motonari could smell even from where he was standing, this man was truly a warlord of the Sengoku Era.

It would not do Motonari's feeling justice to say that he found this version of Motochika attractive. The feelings were so heavy that he could only stand there, transfixed for the moment, eyes locked on Chousokabe as his heart clenched in want. Physical attraction was a part of it, yes, but more so was the way that the man brandished his weapon in the sun, calling his men forward and directing them with ease and skill. He was a born leader, and it was no surprise that so many fought for him voluntarily. That lone eye looked in Motonari's direction, and he knew that he wanted this rough pirate in his bed, both to take him and make him cry out in lusty moans, and to be taken by him, pinned down by a force no less than the sea.

One of his men cried out as he was struck down by a stray arrow, and Motonari's focus was drawn away from the husky man. Despite the glances he kept throwing at him throughout the battle, Chousokabe appeared not to notice, or else ignored his fellow warlord entirely. Motonari did not see him again until the last battle.

It was a crisp day in late October, and blood had already soaked the grounds of this valley in central Japan. Though their chances had been high in the beginning, it was certain that as soon as Hideaki was swayed by Tokugawa's sweet words, that the victory would go to the East. Chousokabe had been positioned to Motonari's right, and he watched the pirate fight with fresh vigor when he noticed their side was faltering. He ignored his wounds, and moved forward with determination towards Tokugawa's two female generals. Luck was not on his side though, and he was not able to close the gap between them before Tsuruhime's arrows rained down on him in clumps, but he did not stop even when his chest was peppered with shafts, almost looking like a young spruce. It took the legendary crow of Saika with all her skills to finally take him down. He fell with a bullet in his skull.

Motonari knew that he would soon suffer the same fate unless he called out of Tokugawa's mercy and surrendered then and there. But something about Chousokabe's final surge of fight moved something deep inside him, and he raced forward with his weapon held up.

When he woke in the plastic pod once more, his body ached all over, and his head wouldn't stop spinning. He wondered idly how much time had passed while he had spent weeks in his past life. An ache in his stomach where he did not remember being wounded suggested that _that_, at the very least, would have to be dealt with before he tried again. Groggily, his hands groped about on the sides of the pod, and it took several tries to finally get himself out of the strange, white, plastic casket and to the concrete below. With time, he was able to walk normally, and managed to make it across the dark room to where his jacket rested on a chair, only stumbling once. The pain had mostly faded when he picked up his jacket, now cold, and fumbled through the pockets for his phone. Sudden brightness blinded him for a moment, but he was able to see the date and the time. Minutes passed, and his brows furrowed in concentration. Eventually he gave up, accepting that if he could not remember what date he had first climbed into the pod, it was pointless to stare at the date on his phone.

He left his lab, catching the bus to his apartment on the other side of the city with an air of concentration. Distracting as his stomach may be, he needed to figure out what was wrong with his past self's plan. Perhaps he had not instilled enough fear in Hideaki, or he had placed his troops in the wrong location, having followed Ishida's orders instead of his own intuition. His attention was caught by a castle as he looked out the window. It was old, having been built in the early Edo period, and he had never paid it much attention before now, but of course it had been built for no other than the great Tokugawa Ieyasu. And it was then that it hit him—he was trying to change history too much. If he sided his forces with Ieyasu, he would fare much better, and perhaps even share in the spoils of the end of the Sengoku Era. He did not sleep well that night, instead staring blankly at the ceiling as schemes assembled and disassembled in his head.


	3. The Third Try

**Time Traveling Mouri**

The third time was a failure.

When Motonari opened his eyes this time, there was no hesitation. He did not pause to check his motor skills or confirm where things were, instead pulling out fresh _washi_ and setting about writing two letters. One addressed to the lord of Edo, expressing interest in an alliance, and the other for the vengeful vassal of the once great Hideyoshi, declining his previous offer. With this he sought to tackle the problem that Chousokabe presented. Again, he was struck with the impression that he needed the pirate to win, and while it was known throughout the land that Chousokabe and Tokugawa were good friends, the Lord of Shikoku was also known for his kindness toward lonely souls like Ishida's. The only way to make certain he would stay loyal would be to give him something to seek vengeance for. So Motonari set out to do just that. And when he stood back with his disguised troops to witness the destruction he had caused on the Fourth Island, Ishida's banners flapping in the wind, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of deja vu.

Again he sent Chousokabe a letter of consolation, but after that, things ceased to be the same. There were new allies to feign cordiality to, and new battles to be fought with new enemies-the leader of Satsuma being a particular bother. Though not nearly as devious as Motonari, he was a crafty old man, and managed to avoid defeat by the forces of Aki. At with last time he hardly saw Chousokabe out of battle. Though he only stole glances, it seemed his desires hadn't changed.

One person he did see a lot more of though, was Tsuruhime, or rather, her past life. The reds and whites that made up her outfit and her bubbly attitude were something that she had carried with her to the next life, though her bow was definitely not. Though his past life's memories was a tad too accustomed to this girl, reminding Motonari again and again why he despised being in her company, he could help but expect to turn around and see her in that favorite lab coat of hers, drumming her short finger nails away on a clipboard, or going over data on her tablet. It made him wonder how she was doing back in the future he had temporarily abandoned. And as her past self chased after some elusive ninja, if she had met him in the future yet.

However, his objectives remained the same, and as the date of the Battle of Sekigahara approached, Motonari was more and more certain of his impending victory.

The battlefield may have been the same, but defending left such a different taste in his mouth that it did not feel like he was repeating the same actions at all. The battle was not far gone before Hideaki changed sides as Motonari knew he would, and favor tipped to the East. He could practically taste the history he was rewriting.

To his left he could see that Chousokabe had Outani's forces cornered, and sped over to lend his aid, knowing only too well how Outani was the backbone of Ishida's forces. The pirate of Shikoku had already slaughtered most of the leper's men and looked ready to do the same to their leader.

"I shall have revenge for all my men who died at your lord's hand!" Chousokabe boomed as his anchor rose above his head, intent on striking.

A low cackle escaped his lips, and Outani wiped away blood that trickled from his lips and onto his bandages before responding. "Kill me if you must, but at least know the true name of the man who is actually responsible for the death of so many in cold blood."

"Even now you still try to deceive me? Does your callousness know no bounds?! It was Mitsunari's banners I saw flying proudly above my men's corpses that day!"

"It may have been his banners, but I know for certain that Mitsunari was locked in combat in the East during the time your men were slaughtered. Should you ask your _great_ lord, he will confirm for you." Outani coughed again, but even as fresh blood splattered his hand and the space around his mouth, his eyes danced with mirth.

"Watch your tongue, you-"

But the dying man wasn't done yet. "I would look to your close allies for the true perpetrator. Who was it that first asked for your aid against Mitsunari?" Outani looked up as Motonari finally came within range, but before he could say another word, Motonari's ring blade sailed through the air and neatly decapitated the man. Chousokabe didn't even watch the head hit the ground, instead turning around to set his ally with an accusing stare.

Motonari did not falter when that lone eye bored into him. He cursed Outani inwardly, but faced the blood covered pirate with an air of controlled calmness, as if he was not the one who had laid Shikoku to waste. Chousokabe shifted all of his attention to the green garbed lord, face demanding an explanation, an excuse, any sign of emotion. Their eyes locked for a moment, and a chill ran through Motonari's spine, not unlike when he had first seen the man in battle-admiration, respect, desire, and this time, a small amount of fear laced the feelings as well. If this demon of the sea found him to truly be guilty, he would not hesitate to rip his so called _ally's_ head from his shoulders.

Motonari's eyebrows arched slightly. "Why are you wasting time here, Chousokabe? This battle has not been won yet." And with that, he turned and began walking away, back completely exposed. The iDemon/i of the West would not strike until he knew for certain that he was the guilty one. Motonari had nothing to worry about.

"Mouri." The call was deep, and it vibrated through the tent, shaking the sense of ease that Motonari had built up, and making his instincts act up, screaming at him to grab his ring and turn around as fast is possible. But control was as much his weapon as any blade, and the warlord turned around with an air of cool indifference, clad in a deep green kimono, only his lies as armor.

"And what brings you to my tent, Chousokabe? Surely you have not tired of celebrating already?" Indeed, it was strange that the leader so loved by his men was not out making merry with them. Victory this time had been quick and almost effortless—though Ishida and his allies put up quite the fight, the two sides were just not balanced evenly enough; Motonari hadn't realized how much his and the pirate's changing of sides altered the war. But even with the "enemy" slain, and the future of the Mouri clan looking bright as the morning sun, the problem of Chouskabe yet remained, and Motonari feared that he would have to deal with it sooner than he would like.

"I want the truth from you, Mouri." Again the voice pierced him, and Mouri realized that Chousokabe was not only still wearing his armor, but hoisting his anchor as well. "Was it you who slayed my men in Shikoku? Would you really sink so low as to attack my forces when I was not there to command them?!" Though they were phrased as questions, clearly the words that hurled from his mouth were accusations.

"As interesting as the things you say are, you should know me, Chousokabe." And here, Motonari sneered for effect. "I would never waste my time unless I had a _good_ reason. Why would I kill your men?"

Knuckles whiting as he gripped his spear tighter, the great lord of Shikoku seemed a bit deterred, but he remained stubborn as always, and pushed on. "The reason, I know not, but I do know for certain that my men were not killed by Mitsunari. His banners may have waited for me as false evidence, but Ieyasu confirmed Yoshitsugu's last words: he has locked in battle with the Eastern armies when my men were killed, so they could not have been slaughtered by him."

Motonari shrugged, feigning impatience. "And why does that bring you to me? Just because I consider you to be my rival does not mean I would kill your men in your absence."

"Then WHO, Mouri?!" The voice was booming again, and Motonari couldn't help but be impressed at that voice, even as arguments and excuses raced through his mind. "If it was not you, then who?! You were the one who first contacted me after the tragedy. Who informed you such things had occurred?! I can think of no one else who would do such things!"

"Again, remind me of your reasoning, Chousokabe. Why would I kill your men when I already intended to join the Eastern forces? It would be foolish to make an enemy out of you when we were surely to be on the same side."

Again, the raging pirate paused, as if slightly derailed by his rival's comment, but he gathered himself for a moment and looked up anew, locking his single eye on his partner's face. "Tell me then, in the small bit of honesty that you possess, that you did not lead the force that slaughtered so many in my home." The sincerity that dripped off his figure startled Motonari. This man, so headstrong, and foolish, and powerful, and _honest_, always left him so bothered—he didn't know where the energy came from, and he didn't know why it effected him so-now, in this time that he was rewriting, and in the future where he came from. It was absurd that such a simple question unsettled him so. Was it because Motonari couldn't understand why he would even bother to ask when he was so certain, or was it because he firmly believed that Motochika—no, Chousokabe, would actually believe him? Either way, it was the reason for his failure. It didn't seem to matter how many times he had schemed and warped the truth to work for his benefit, and even his habit of using the pirate for his gain didn't change one fact:

This time, he just couldn't lie to him.

And when he woke up again in the pod, hand gingerly reaching for the crook that connected his neck and his collar bone, Motonari wondered if maybe the real reason he was going back wasn't his clan's fortunes at all.


	4. The Final Try

**Time Traveling Mouri**

The fourth try ended with failure.

Not bothering to give his weakened body a chance for rest or food, Motonari punched in the dates with a hand only steadied only by determination. When he opened his eyes again, he was in a place that was beginning to feel more real than his own time. The sun that greeted his face as he gazed out from his castle to the lands of the Mouri clan and the sea that greeted them was warm. Being here made him actually feel like he was in control of his own destiny, and no matter what fate had in store, he could go back and fix it.

This time he abandoned his schemes for Shikoku, instead sending out a curt message that Chousokabe would cover the hole in his northeastern defenses if he had any sense at all. He followed this letter with one to each of the lords of the East and the West, mimicking the messages from his last attempt but this time without any flowery language. All trickery he had was focused on his battles. And when Outani showed up at his gates, waving the letter furiously and demanding an explanation, Motonari instructed his archers to shoot him down if possible and went back to his war maps, deciding where the lord of Satsuma was likely to strike first. And as if his karma was aware of the fact that he had not slaughtered leaderless villages in Shikoku this time, he suddenly found himself in Chousokabe's presence all the more.

Even though the two leaders' styles of commanding were quite different (Motonari gave out orders from the rear, while Chousokabe headed up his charge with rowdy shout) the two still managed to bump into each other. The first battle Motonari found himself fighting left him as offense and the forces of Shikoku as defense, so when he sent his troops racing forward, Chousokabe came up behind him. It was a poor formation, and the young lord was just about to say as much when he realized he had underestimated the enemy. While their main force kept the soldiers of Aki busy to the north, a small group had cut around on west through the woods, and would have remained undetected if not for the sun gleaming on their arrowheads as they notched them. And that is the reason why I instruct my archers to use blackened arrows, Motonari thought as he repositioned himself to block the flying projectiles. From the angle they were coming from, it would not be dangerous for his men, but for those from Shikoku, the pirate in particular. Without a word, he smoothly moved in front of his fellow warlord, and when the latter rebuked him, he merely lifted his ring with a smirk. Five arrows bounced harmlessly against the blade with a sound like rain on a tin roof. Shifting his ring to catch a fresh wave, Motonari missed the way Chousokabe's shocked expression changed into a giant grin and he called his men forward with fresh vigor.

After that, the two seemed to spend every battle together. Working with the pirate was stiff and awkward at first, but soon enough he was beginning to wonder why he hadn't tried this earlier. Once he understood how Chousokabe moved, working in sync with him was easy, and as much as he had insulted the other man's intelligence, he was quite the fast learner, and they made an excellent team. And while the more slippery of the two didn't trust so much that he left his back exposed, he still found himself relying on the other fighter more and more, until it felt almost natural to be by his side.

It was the evening of their fourth victory and the troops were celebrating. The men from Shikoku had been first to break out the sake, talking animatedly to each other in their usual robust voices. Though initially timid, the troops of Aki soon joined in and the two camps were alive with merrymaking. Motonari stood on an outcropping overlooking the encampment, still clad in his green armor, though sans his helmet. He was debating whether or not to return to his tent for some much deserved rest when a certain pirate swaggered up.

"I'm surprised a stick in the mud like you actually allows his troops time to celebrate," he remarked with his typical grin, clearly hoping to get some sort of response out of Motonari.

"It is a necessary evil." His eyes scanned his troops as he recalled a time during his second attempt when he had been so foolish as to try to prohibit his soldiers from relaxing.

"So even you understand that much." The response was followed by a low chuckle and then a thoughtful pause. "You've changed, Mouri. You're a slippery eel, that much is for sure, but you aint half the backstabbing bastard you used to be." Meeting Chousokabe's softened expression with raised eyebrows, Motonari made him stumble a little before continuing on. "What I mean to say is... well... you aint half bad, Mouri!"

Watching his proud and brave "rival" stutter through such a confession was almost enough to make Motonari smile, though he would not admit to as much. "Your point?" Crossing his arms, he turned to face the other man, finally giving him his attention.

He almost immediately regretted doing so, because the setting sun was casting a gradient of pink and yellow across the warlord's tanned skin and silver locks, bringing out his best features. That eye however, remained forever hidden behind a deep purple patch, and Motonari couldn't help but wonder what the scar looked like in this life. The lips he had opened froze with words half formed, and he simply stared. Taking advantage of this silence, Chousokabe stepped forward until the space between them had practically disappeared, and reached out a roughened hand to cup the stiff lord's face, gingerly sliding a thumb against that cheek.

And in that moment, Motonari was no longer in the Sengoku Jidai. There were no wars for him to fight, or men for him to lead. There was no armor to tie on systematically, and no weapon to grip firmly. He had returned to his own time, where there was only the lab—a mess of sterile plastics and metals—and his white lab coat. There he did not hear the rustle of the foliage, or feel the rough heat of the sun on his cheeks. In that lab, he only felt more failure than success.

But _he_ was there.

When the other team members had gone home for the night, and Tsuruhime had fallen asleep at her desk, Motonari was always still there, fingers typing furiously as his eyes narrowed to slits behind thick framed glasses. And when he was just about ready to throw up his arms in pure frustration, the back door would open and cool air would rush into the room.

"Still at it, eh?" Motochika would say in that low voice of his as he closed the door quietly behind him, careful not to wake their sleeping coworker. He would set a convenience store bag of _onigiri_ down on Motonari's desk, and pull his wheeled chair backwards so that the thinner of the two could no longer reach the keys. And when Motonari would turn around to fix his companion with a glare, and demand that he let him return to his work, that man would only smile in that soft way and reach out a hand to cup Motonari's face. In that moment, no matter how terribly their project was going, and how much pent up frustration he had, relief washed over him, and he was comforted. Eyelids slid shut and he leaned against the hand, breathing out his stress as a silent sigh and—

"Mouri…"

And it was all gone. He was back in the armor which suddenly felt awkward and tight, and breathing crisp air of the coming autumn evening. He staggered slightly, and pushed Chousokabe's hand away, suddenly disgusted by it. He was here. He had a mission. He couldn't go back to that time anymore.

Not even if he died.

"I must return to my tent." He managed, turning around to avoid the hurt and surprise the pirate wore openly.

* * *

The evening encounter did not seem to hamper the two daimyo's teamwork in battle. If anything the island warlord seemed more eager than ever, and he moved with Motonari as if they had been doing this for years. The lord of Aki, on the other hand, had rolled the situation over in his head again and again, surprised that his companion had taken a fancy to him, and that he had pushed him away, considering his attraction. In the end he decided it was not worth the time spent worrying over it.

They continued to win battles at a surprising rate, and when the tired but jovial troops discovered an abandoned store house full of rice and sake they took it as an excuse to celebrate. After a long series of battles, even Motonari convinced himself that it would be nice to trade his armor for black kimono with soft green lining and a yellow obi, and take a moment to relax and sip warm sake. He had chosen a clearing near the camp this time-close enough that he could be easily found should trouble occur, but far enough that the shouting of drunk soldiers was only a dull roar. With his sake bottle to his right and a fallen tree serving as his seat, Motonari watched the blue disappear from the sky, leaving ripples of yellow and orange it its wake.

Footsteps could be heard approaching from the campsite, and he didn't have to look up to know it was Chousokabe. "Drunk already?" He asked with his usual bite, setting down his shallow cup to look at his visitor with irritation. The silver haired man had also shed his armor for a kimono; it was blue, and while not made of silk nearly as fine as Motonari's, it still looked quite dashing on him, and was a nice change from the typical purple.

"Must I be drunk to seek you out?" He asked with a flirtatious grin and what might have been a wink.

"Such a line is wasted when your breath is heavy with alcohol," Motonari replied nonchalantly before picking up his cup again and pouring in a small amount of sake. Chousokabe chucked in reply and made a swipe for the sake bottle, which the darker clad of the two deftly moved out of the way.

"Y'know," that lone blue eye remained fixed on the sake while he talked. "Our troops are celebrating together."

"And?" Not even bothering to feign interest, Motonari sipped at his sake—it had already started to get cold.

"I'm just saying it aint normal for two groups who spent so much time trying to kill each other to actually get along. It must be because of our greaaaaat teamwork!" He declared as he swung an arm over his companion's shoulder with his typical grin.

Figuring it would be more work to try and remove the arm than to leave it here, Motonari merely shrugged in response, pouring himself the last of the sake. Though the liquid had cooled, the red lacquer was still warm and he shifted it about in his hand, making the clear alcohol swirl about in the shallow basin. Between the pleasant burn of the sake, the rumbling of his cheering troops in the background, and the warmth of the man who was sitting so close to him, Motonari felt more at peace than he had in sometime.

Still though.

Something was missing.

He frowned, and downed the rest of the booze in one gulp, provoking a disappointed noise out of the idiot beside him. The sunset was fading behind the trees, and a soft blanket of black would soon overtake the sky. Motonari missed the sun already, but there was something rich about the night that he had never noticed before coming to this time. It was thick with its own atmosphere and felt so different from the day. Instead of always worrying about what was hiding in the dark, he felt like he had become familiar with it, as if he could be the one using it as camouflage.

"Mouri." The calling of his name pulled him from his thoughts, like he was a hooked fish pulled up from the depths of a pond. That's not really my name, was what Motonari wanted to say, but stared at the pirate's face in silence instead. How long had it been since he'd been this close to another human being? But not just another human being, how long had it been since he'd been close to_ him_, though they were not really the same person. When he had first plunged into this time and felt the power that ran through his muscles and the lust that drove him to look to Chousokabe, he had known quite distinctly that they were separate people. The souls may be the same, but they were indeed separate. But with this try, that line was being blurred more and more. And perhaps it was the alcohol, however small an amount, or perhaps it was the way that single eye gazed at him with such intensity, but Motonari could not help but want to kiss Chousokabe.

So kiss him he did. He set the bottle and cup aside in one smooth motion, and slid his left hand into that thick silver hair with another. Before his victim had a chance to utter out surprise, he had already been pulled into a harsh locking of lips.

The shock that escaped Chousokabe's throat quickly changed to a groan of satisfaction, and he tilted his head downward, giving in to that hand in his hair. His own hands went to the other lord's shoulders, hoping to pull him closer, but his fingertips never reached. His back hit the fallen log, and the man he had thought was stiff and ruthless for the longest time was suddenly looming over him with eyes so full of lust that he got goose bumps. It seemed that even the _feared_ lord of Aki was human after all. With a toothy grin, he reached up and pulled the brunette into another kiss, parting his lips so Motonari's searching tongue could penetrate his mouth. Between the taste of expensive sake and the low groans that escaped between kisses, this was a side his rival that Chousokabe had never dreamed he would see, and it just made him want the temperamental man all the more. Hands went to push that finely woven black kimono off his shoulders, but Motonari was already far ahead of him, having loosened the other man's obi when he wasn't paying attention. Smooth dexterous fingers slid over that toned chest, and even though his armor left it bare every day, seeing it and parting a kimono so he could explore all the dips and scars with his hands were quite different indeed.

Moist lips left soft kisses down his face until they met Chousokabe's strong neck, hesitating at the exposed lines of thick arteries and a prominent adam's apple. Motonari didn't even bother to kiss the rare sight before his lips pulled back and he bit down with his teeth, relishing the gasp that he could feel through the pirate's skin. Further nips lead to more groans, and he wondered if there would be marks the next day. He shifted further downwards, fingers tweaking a nipple while their counterparts swirled warm circles across Chousokabe's stomach. Following his fingers, his face nuzzled against the tanned skin, while he committed every sudden gasp and low moan to memory. This man was his, regardless of the time or the situation; he would make Chousokabe bend only to him.

But it seemed like his past self had already taken care of that.

His fingers froze when they met a scar on the silver haired man's left side that he didn't remember immediately. Moving so he could fix intense brown eyes on the two rugged lines, he noted how they looked more like gashes where someone had ripped off the flesh than simple slash wounds. A breathy laugh escaped Chousokabe's lips as Motonari ran his fingers over the bumps and grooves with curiosity. "Admiring your handiwork there, Mouri?"

And then he remembered. Of course his past self would have done this, marking the opposing warlord to make certain he never forgot the strength of the Mouri clan. It had been one of their first meetings too, if he was reading the memories right. A long battle had preceded the event, both sides determined to win out over the other-fighting until their armor had been ripped to shreds and their weapons dulled. Aki's lord was prepared to do anything to win: sacrifice troops, use dirty tactics, whatever led to his eventual victory. He stood none too far from his adversary, both pausing to catch their breath. The sky was grey, and it quickened the coming of evening's blackness, but even if the sun had been shining, Mouri would have moved too fast for anyone to see the glint on his blade. Sensing the oncoming attack, Chousokabe lifted his anchor to block, only to watch his enemy slip on the earth that had been smoothed down by their feet. He relaxed, letting down his guard and shifting to the side to allow the other warrior to recover, thus making the fatal mistake that cost him the battle.

Mouri had slipped, but it put him into such an advantageous position that one had to wonder if he hadn't slid on purpose. Wrenching the two halves of his ring upwards, he hit his foe's side with the dull and chipped blade, and whereas his normal battle ring would have slid through the flesh in a single deep sweep, this weapon had been destroyed in the long fight-the nicks caused from blocking that heavy anchor now caught on the owner's flesh, ripping it off as force pushed it forward. One blade pushed forward while the other pulled back: leaving two gashes along the pirate's side. A cry of pain escaped his throat and he fell to his knees, one hand flew to try and stop the blood from escaping his side while the other clung desperately to his anchor, keeping hold on it despite the pain.

Relishing this sight, Mouri stood up to fully to tower over his adversary, holding his ring high to show that if he so wished, he could end the man right here and now. Narrowed eyes met one clouded heavily with hatred, and the lord of Aki might as well have been smirking. "You live today so that you will never forget that you are weaker than me. You cannot defeat the power of the sun."

Suddenly there was a hand on his face, and Motonari snapped away from memories that really weren't his, startled like an animal.

"Hey, you can't actually be feeling bad, Mouri. What would everyone say if they found out you had a heart?" Chousokabe laughed it off with his usual cheer, but Motonari could hear the bitterness behind those chuckles. He stood up without a word and straightened his kimono. "Hey, Mouri! Wait!" This man was so interesting wherever he met him. He still harbored anger for all the cruelty he had been dealt with, but he was also capable of seeing past that it seemed.

But for the first time, Motonari wished he was himself instead of this Mouri.

* * *

The battles continued to pass swiftly and soon enough they arrived at the spot they would be camping before the final battle. The others didn't know it yet, but if history played out the same as it had last time, they would watch this spot for approximately a week before Ishida's forces would show up and the battle that marked the end of this war would occur. Tokugawa's main forces were already settled in when they arrived, so while the troops unpacked and set up camp, the daimyo all met in the central tent for a war meeting. Judging by the faces that appeared, most everyone was here already-Date Masamune, Saika Magoichi, Tsuruhime, and of course Ieyasu himself. Tsuruhime made a surprised face when she saw him but otherwise did nothing. He wondered idly if she had not known he was fighting for the East, but gave it no other thought. The rest of the meeting was spent in distracted thought; he already knew the strategy and the location so there was no need to pay attention.

Strangely enough, his heart just wasn't in it this time. He had fought long and hard to get this far and it looked as if he could actually succeed this time, but he couldn't even seem to get excited. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he had been coming back for the right reasons. If the Mouri clan had risen to power, instead of his dull apartment he would have a traditional clan house passed down through generations, but he would have still had the same interests; it would have been easy to get into college and he doubted he would have needed to work his way through, but he would have gone to the same one. He would have met the same people and in the same sense, seen the same people die. So why was he here?

In that moment, an image of Chousokabe came to mind. He was grinning brightly as he lead his troops through the glories of battle, anchor swinging, a shout of joy on his lips, and Motonari knew.

The meeting ended with anticipation for the coming battle-no one could quite say why, but it was obvious in the air that this was the beginning of the end. Once the other warlords had left, Chosokabe chatting animatedly with Ieyasu and Masamune while Tsuruhime bounced behind Magoichi, Motonari rose to leave, gathering up their maps in his wake-he was entrusted as the tactician should Ieyasu be absent. An unusual sigh escaped his lips, and he could only be grateful that no one was around to hear it. He, who lived on his drive and ambitions, suddenly realized that he had none.

Taking the long route back to where he knew his tent had been erected, he felt dazed, but not so much that he didn't notice something was amiss when he did arrive. His senses were telling him to reach for the weapon he was not currently carrying, or to send troops in first because there was definitely someone in his tent who should not be. Silently setting the maps down, he weighed his options. The setting sun meant that the inside of his tent would be dark, and his eyes would need a moment to adjust. In that moment any enemy solider (never mind an assassin or a ninja) who lay in wait could easily pick him off with a well-aimed arrow. Even though his armor was of the highest grade, a shot from such a range would surely pierce through and end his life. And though he could easily start again, he didn't know if he had the energy for another try.

Motonari was weighing whether to send in a lesser soldier or set fire to the tent when he heard a rustle of movement in the tent and a thought struck him. "Chousokabe, must you constantly waste my time?" He spat out with an irritated air. A chuckle soon followed in response and the man who united Shikoku emerged from the tent, still fully garbed in his armor. So he must have separated with the others soon after leaving the meeting and came straight here, Motonari mused.

"Oh come now, Mouri, I wouldn't call it a waste."

Ignoring the wolfish grin, Motonari bent over to retrieve the maps he had set down previously, a reply already prepared. However, the words died on his lips when he felt a hand squeeze his ass. Immediately he whipped around with the intention of striking his offender, and he might have been successful too had it not been for the low kick that knocked out his legs from under him. Unable to stop his momentum, he felt himself spiraling towards the hard ground, shocked for a brief moment until he felt the pirate catch him.

And that was how the great lord of Aki found himself, armor and all, cradled like a child in the arms of his fellow daimyo.

He did not panic or squirm or let out any horrified noises, but simply looked Chousokabe dead in the face and said in a very controlled voice: "Set me down before I disembowel you." He only received rich laughter in return, and Chousokabe turned and pushed his way into Motonari's tent, knocking off that tall green helmet on the tent flap as he did so. Once in the privacy of the tent, he was set down slowly where he paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. There was a shuffling behind him and suddenly strong arms pulled him into a hug-hands wrapped tightly about his waist as hot breath rolled down his hair to tickle the small bit of skin that showed before his high collar.

"Mouri," the voice was heavy like gravel and came from deep in the man's throat. "I want you."

The moment was almost still and Motonari could feel his heart palpitate in his chest. He wasn't familiar with this feeling, or the way his face was heating up. With Motochika, they had arrived at the same conclusion at the same time. There had been no awkward confessions or one-sided dialogues. They had both simply known. So when Chousokabe began speaking again, he couldn't help but want to hear more.

"For a long time I lusted after you; a man like you was an unreachable treasure that I knew would never be mine but couldn't help wanting anyway. But then you protected me in battle, and though it was clear you were showing off, it gave me the slightest inkling that you had changed. You are different than the Mouri who struck me down so long ago." Here there was a pause, as if the man from Shikoku wanted to let the words sink in. He gripped the shorter of the two a little tighter, and directed his next words to Motonari's ear. "You know as well as I, so what holds you back?"

The words hung heavy in the air like a stifling blanket. Black gloved hands reached up to touch the ones clinging to him gingerly before prying them off. And he turned around slowly, eyes now adjusted to the darkness so he could see Chousokabe, and just look him in the face, searching for some sign, some minute difference that would show him he was looking at a ruthless daimyo from the Sengoku Jidai, and not his coworker and lover. But in that moment, he could find none.

* * *

A warm ray of sun caressed his face as a way of saying good morning and Motonari felt himself smile slightly. Motochika, who knew his partner's love of being greeted by the first light of the sun, must have left the curtain slightly open last night. Since no alarm had gone off it was probably a holiday or one of the unusual weekends that they didn't have to work, and Motonari wanted nothing more than to snuggle up to the man lying beside him, drunk on the sun and the sheets that smelled of the previous night's sex. He knew that eventually he'd be roused to sloppy kisses and sooner or later be coaxed out of bed with a cup of hot coffee, but for now, he didn't want to do anything but be.

"Mouri." That name pulled him from his silence and he startled, looking about with wide eyes. The sight that greeted him was not his lover's small apartment littered with band posters and too many blankets, but rather a war tent from a time far before the one he belonged in. And even if the man lying next to him had a very familiar face, he was not the one with whom the time traveler had spent so many late nights.

His new bedmate only chuckled at seeing his alarm, propping himself up on his side while he did so he could get a better view of the fretting warlord. "You aren't suddenly having regrets about last night, are you?" That husky voice was clearly flavored with good humor but Motonari could detect a bit of sentimentality in it as well. "Your presence quite surprises me; I expected you to have kicked me out long before morning or be gone when I rose, but here you are." Reaching out with a tentative hand, almost as if he was afraid to frighten Motonari, he trailed brine roughened fingers across his partner's cheek. And almost instinctively, the brunette leaned into the touch, it feeling more familiar than he would like to admit.

Chousokabe took this as a good sign, and brought their faces together in a soft kiss. The response was desperate and greedy-in this moment of vulnerability he just wanted to pretend he was still in his own time kissing his own lover.

It was no surprise then that neither noticed the figure rustling outside the tent until it burst through the tent flaps. "Oh my god, Motonari, are you okay?! I saw your helmet outside and-" None other than the very excitable Tsuruhime had flown in, only to be greeted with the sight of two very naked men curled up on a _futon_ in the back of the tent. Chousokabe acknowledged her stunned silence with a cheeky grin.

"Unfortunately he's a little busy at the present. I would advise that you return later." The very red girl sputtered out apologies and fled amidst the pirate's heavy laughter. His partner looked on with a look of unaffected boredom but his mind was scrambling furiously-the shrine maiden had obviously come to his tent with some purpose. Further she had not used his clan name to address him, but his first name, something which no Tsuruhime from this time had ever done before. There was something different about her this time around, something he was determined to find out.

Chousokabe on the other hand, was intent on picking up where they had left off. He buried his face in the soft skin of his lover's neck before biting down gently and earning a throaty gasp from Motonari. "You are quite louder than I expected," he mumbled against the smooth skin, sending excited shivers down the general of Aki's spine. "And of all things to call out last night, my first name? Ever the puzzle, aren't we?" Pulling back slightly so that Motonari could see the smile he seemed to always be wearing, he ruffled his partner's hair affectionately. "Would you prefer if I called you by your first name as well?"

And there went the Lord of Shikoku again, always trying look out for his partner's needs, always trying to go the extra mile. It was a trait Motonari was quite familiar with, because it was a trait that Motochika had as well. The two shared the same soul, but were different. He told himself this over and over again, but that difference was becoming less and less distinct the more time passed. If Motonari didn't look at that scars that marked Chousokabe's body as a warrior or the delicate embroidered fabric that made up the futon, he could forget the where and when and assume it was just another lazy Sunday morning, and his lover was trying to stop him from wasting the day.

"Motonari." The word hung in the air like Chousokabe didn't yet know if he liked the sound of it. "Motonari," he breathed again, leaving kisses down the bare chest as he worked his way downward. "Motonari." The last time he said it with conviction before taking the other man's member into his wet mouth. He only received his own first name as a groaned out response.

* * *

Motonari exited his tent, and took a breath of the crisp autumn air before picking up the only bit of his armor that he wasn't currently wearing-his helmet. One hand wiped off the morning dew; with that exception everything seemed to be in fine working order, and he placed it on his head where it belonged. With this done he strode to where his troops had set up camp last night. Most were up by now, and cooking around small campfires-they all rose and bowed respectfully as their lord passed. After speaking to a few of his squad leaders he turned around and began walking towards the center of encampment from where he was intending to head to the troops of the little crane were set up. After this morning and last night, he knew she had some unfinished business with him, and he would rather be done with it now rather than have it show up when he last wanted it, during the Battle of Sekigahara. Motonari knew that he needed to be one step ahead at all times.

It seemed that he was already behind though.

He had just passed the main tent where all the daimyo had converged the night before when he felt that something was very, very wrong. With only a split second, he whipped up his ring and barely managed to deflect an arrow before it buried itself in his shoulder. It wound up in the ground by his feet instead and he startled at seeing it. He knew that fletching, it couldn't be-!

The voice of a young woman could be heard from behind him. "What are you doing here, Motonari?"

And in that moment, the time traveler understood everything. He turned around slowly, weapon still held high, but he knew she wouldn't shoot again until she had heard his story. Deep brown eyes of the lord and strategist of Aki met with the bright eyes of none other than the shrine maiden of Shikoku. But they were more than just warlords on the same side, after all, they were both time travelers.

"I do believe I should be the one asking as much, seeing as I've been here for much longer, Tsuruhime," he replied steady, eyes locked on hers, though he was ready for anything.

"I'm not the one who's out doing crazy things, Motonari! Everyone was worried when you took on that independent project. We thought you would work yourself to death in the state you were in, and you sure did, but so differently than we had ever imagined. The goal was to test the capsule, not actually throw yourself in it! When I came to check on you, your body was falling apart! If you don't go back soon, you'll die!"

Of course Motonari had considered how taxing this process must be on his real body, but he had never given it much heed. And now that he knew his changes wouldn't make any difference, he didn't know if it mattered. "That is no business of yours." The words were cold and distant-he didn't even have the will to refute her words.

"But it is! We're not just coworkers, Motonari, I'm your friend! I'm the only friend you have left..." The last part was added quietly, almost like an afterthought.

His thin lips pulled into an even thinner line, only barely betraying his emotion. "Go home."

The young woman puffed up in indignation. "I will not go home unless you do first." Crossing her arms, she set her feet flat on the ground.

"I have business here that I must attend to-I will not return for your petty desires." She had been a friend once: loud and obnoxious, but pure hearted, honest and hardworking. But the moment anyone stood in his way was the moment he forgot about all ties with them.

"And what business could you even have here, Motonari?!" When he failed to respond, her aggravation only rose. "You would listen to me if I was Motochika!"

Silence broke out between the two as Tsuruhime realized the weight of her statement and Motonari raised his ring in silent anger. But the younger of the two was not about to back down; she had come this far and there was no turning back until they were back in their proper time.

"I'm sorry, Motonari, but I'm going to send you back, even if I have to kill you." The great archer of Shikoku readied her bow to shoot, and her new adversary immediately took a defensive stance. The first arrow flew just as the flaps of the main tent flew open, and a booming female voice declared:

"Just what is going on here?!"

But Tsuruhime didn't even blink when her idol, Magoichi Saika entered the scene. A split second was taken to aim, and then three arrows were let free, targeting Motonari's exposed face and throat. This was not an action taken by a naïve girl who had spent her life sheltered in a shrine, but rather by the strong willed researcher who put her heart into her projects. Motonari only just managed to strike the projectiles down before they took his life.

In the moments that followed, Saika quickly disarmed Tsuruhime, and Chousokabe, who had been nearby, inquired about the source of the fight. When Tsuruhime refused to say anything on the subject, the two turned to the ruler of Aki. Preferring to knock Tsuruhime out of his way without dirtying his hands, he simply explained that she had attacked him without being provoked, and he was not sure the nature of her aggression. Whereas typically, both the pirate and the crow would suspect him of falsehood, whether because of Tsuruhime's behavior or the simplicity of his story, they believed him. Tsuruhime was put under strict watch while he was allowed to go free.

That night, Motonari found himself standing in front of Chousokabe's tent. The encounter that morning had left him more uneasy than he would care to admit, and was a startling reminder that his ireal/i life was quite possibly catching up with him. But he wanted to forget all that. He had found a place where he could start anew, or so he kept telling himself.

When Motonari walked through the doorway of his tent unannounced, clad in his under armor, the ruler of Shikoku greeted him with quite the surprised face, but it didn't take long for him to pull the green clad lord into his arms. Motonari reacted with an immediate greedy kiss.

After their love making, the two relaxed on Chousokabe's futon, tired but not enough to sleep. At times like these, Motochika typically filled the silence with chatter-stories they both knew Motonari had already heard about his high school adventures, or strange anecdotes about his family and pets. The brunette would never admit it, but he loved the sound of his partner's voice, and drifting off to the sound of it was quite relaxing. At the same time it showed how much he, who had such a hard time trusting people, was comfortable around this man.

So when silence enveloped the two in the Sengoku Jidai, the shorter of the two immediately felt uneasy. He was just about to open his mouth to say something, anything, when the pirate asked a question:

"What did you do to anger Tsuruhime so? She's normally such a cheerful lass and should know better than to attack a fellow daimyo like that, which is why she's the one tied to the mast and not you, figuratively speaking of course. But what did you say to get her so riled up?"

What did he say? She had been dead set on "killing" him in the beginning, she just wanted to know his reasoning first. "I wouldn't tell her," he replied, surprising himself. "I would not tell her why I'm here."

He received a scoff in response. "Why you're in the Eastern Army? Sure everyone expected you to side with Ishida, but-"

"No," the time traveler interrupted smoothly. "She wanted to know why I am iherei/." He shifted so that he was now facing the man lying beside him. "Neither of us belong in this now."

The scarred man opened his mouth to speak, torn between confusion and fascination, but closed it again when his partner continued his explanation.

"Do you understand the concept of reincarnation?" When Chousokabe's eyes widened in understanding, Motonari knew he had chosen the right topic. "Not in your next life, but in one many, many years in the future, the three of us developed a way to reconnect with our past lives."

"By all this you mean that myself, Tsuruhime and you are all connected, even after this life?" That lone eye was widened in wonder. "She didn't use your clan name because the two of you are familiar?" He pressed, surprising his partner with his perceptiveness.

"The real truth of that is rather that I do not bear the name Mouri in my time," he admittedly quietly.

Now this caused the man next to him to really stare. And the silence from earlier reentered the tent, making Motonari shiver a little. "The entire Mouri clan died out many, many years before I was even born. True, I do bear the same first name, but I am not actually of that clan's blood."

But the shock wore off as fast as it appeared, and Chousokabe was laughing and ruffling Motonari's hair. "So that's why you always react so coldly when I call you that, haha. And here I thought you just didn't like me." The time traveler didn't respond, but allowed himself to be coddled, wondering how Chousokabe knowing the truth would change things. He wondered if the great pirate would laugh it off and act like nothing had happened, when he opened his mouth and said something that stopped Motonari cold.

"So why _did_ you come here?"

And here it came again, the question he'd been running away from this entire time. He had buried himself in this project, calculating what he needed to do to travel back to specific dates, and then digging through the historical records to find the date that was most advantageous for him. He said to himself that he just needed to succeed at changing the past and everything would be alright. But really, he had just been running away-he had been trying to avoid thinking about the truth and so had come up with a scheme to keep himself occupied. He was here because he had subconsciously decided that his life then was not worth continuing.

"I'm here because you died." The words came out painfully and slowly, like each syllable came with a tooth. He forced his eyes to lock on the pirate who was his lover, but wasn't _his_ lover. Motochika had died in some stupid accident and Motonari had lost it. He had become a hollow shell with no purpose. The only thing he could think to do, the only way he could seem to grieve was to bury himself in his work. The only way to deal with the pain had been to forget about it entirely. But this time he had tangled himself not in battles, but in love affairs, and Chousokabe became the steady reminder that no matter how much he changed the past, he would never be able to be with Motochika again.

* * *

In the middle of the night, something stirred in the tent and the time traveler felt his eyes snap open, roused from an uneasy sleep. Brown eyes already accustomed to the darkness searched about for the source of the noise and froze when they caught the glint of an arrowhead in the moonlight. Sitting up slowly, he faced a familiar adversary, accepting this too as something he couldn't change.

"Tsuruhime."

"I'm so sorry, Motonari," she replied quietly as she let the arrow fly straight and true.

When he woke up in the pod that fourth time, he didn't have the strength to even get up. He just lay there, feeling every bit of pain that rendered his body immobile and wondering what had been the point of it all. It's so cold, he realized as he drifted into unconsciousness.

The next time he awoke, he was surrounded by the white of a hospital room and a splitting pain in his head. So I'm alive, he thought drowsily as his eyes surveyed the room. Tsuruhime was dozing quietly in the chair on his left, and a vase of flowers adorned the bed stand on his right. He wondered vaguely how she had killed herself after she had shot him, and just how they had changed history. The name tag on the papers hanging near the door didn't read "Mouri," so he could assume not much. That was it then, he had failed and done so completely, not that there was any real point in him succeeding. Before he could sink further into his thoughts though, the woman at his bedside startled awake and was at his side in moments inquiring about his health.

"I'm here thanks to you." the bedridden man replied dryly.

Tsuruhime's face lit up. "I'm so glad I was able to finally do something for you-" However, the words froze in her mouth when she realized the double meaning behind his words. "I don't care if you're mad, I would have done it again if I had to." When Motonari only stared at her blankly in response, the haughtiness disappeared, and she looked at her fingers, embarrassed slightly. "I didn't realize until I saw the two of you the second time why you had gone back."

"Not initially, no." He stared blankly at the ceiling while he spoke, not bothering to do away with the awkward atmosphere that choked the room. "I was trying to run away, but in doing so just ran back into him."

"And in the end?" Came the quiet tentative voice.

"In the end they were different people."

* * *

Months later, Motonari, fully healed, stood next to Tsuruhime in a cemetery, looking silently at the kanji etched into a particular grave. They had already swapped in fresh flowers, lit incense, and poured fresh water over the top of the grave. Water droplets caught in the deep engraving of the first character in his first name, and Motonari found himself reaching out instinctively to wipe the droplets away.

"Do you like the headstone we picked?" The woman asked quietly.

Motonari nodded, fingers still tracing the character that was the same as his. The silence lingered until finally the two turned to go, chilled by the early spring wind. Something flashed on Tsuruhime's hand, and he found the corners of his mouth turning up, if only slightly.

"You found him then?"

A bright smile greeted him in response, and Tsuruhime held out her hand so that Motonari could see the golden band there. "Yes, yes I did."

_End_


End file.
